


Guilty (Loss)

by blindtaleteller



Series: Platovember Prompts 2020 [12]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Coping, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotionally Repressed, Gen, Guilt, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27612838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindtaleteller/pseuds/blindtaleteller
Summary: Finished with his initial breakdown and debriefing almost a week after nearly fatally injuring Loki and putting Pepper in mortal danger in the process, Clint ends up spacing out jammed between Thirteen's kitchen bar and the conference room table trying to deal with what he's done.Natasha offers coffee and a shoulder, while Clint is all too numb and all too aware of the events still playing out in his head as they had gone down; never mind the sense of the dock and what else went off  into the dark that night besides the bomb he threw at Lolo's shoulders..
Relationships: platonic - Relationship
Series: Platovember Prompts 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999015
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Loki, Platonic Relationships, Prompted Writing





	Guilty (Loss)

**Author's Note:**

> Team GROUNDED muses again, Door 8; Book Two of Mixology (Lokiverse).
> 
> A between scene I sketched out in my head and never finished, set a few days after Loki was rushed to the Tower after the dock scene. There are moments I think I haven't given Clint's end of that enough air, and leave his baggage unattended: but that is kind of the point.
> 
> And.. the way it goes untended, for years; is intentional. A part of his character flaws as I see them butting up against Loki's; and Tony's in some ways too.
> 
> The same, they do eventually deal with it all. And Clint isn't quite the level of asshole eh often comes across as being. He does have a conscience, after all. And it's that conscience combined with his high priority sense of privacy and want to carry all his weight, all his own, all the time --even when he shouldn't-- that I think really shapes his character.  
> And not always for the better.
> 
> I do greatly enjoy writing for the varied versions of Clint as a result. Even if he is among the reigning bottlers and angst kings in my head as a result.

  * IDENTIFY LOCATION: RONIN - DIMENSIONAL IDENTIFICATION CONFIMED : HVRA0616-9H-08
  * \---INTER-UNIVERSAL DOORWAY ENTRY POINT H8 : OBSERVATIONAL STATUS - TVA INTERFERENCE : _NOT DETECTED_
  * \----MIDGARD NORTHERN HEMISPHERE : NORTH AMERICAN CONTINENT : CONTROLLED SUBURBAN AREA DETECTED - VISITATION CAUTIONS _REVOKED_ : UPSTATE NEW YORK
  * \------KNOWN DOMESTIC TIME VARIANCE : 9:28 PM US EST



**-=][ G U I L T ][=-**

Replay, again.

Every little nuance. Not because anyone was asking him now. Because he needed the reminder and the understanding of it himself. What he'd done. Because he was circling. Over and again. And coming up empty.

Every breath, the shift and glimmer in the air, the shade of answers going out with the woman who had been in his company; and the wet sound already, when he hit the boards. Out of order but there in blood. Yeah; the blood. That had registered, just not the way it should have. The way he hadn't even noticed in ways that mattered that she'd been right there too; even though she'd been the one to step out of concealment first. Pepper wasn't made for it though, hadn't been. The constant questions steamrolling through his head all coming in at and crushing him at once, and he'd just .. let go of the bowstring. Let it fly. That point was still unclear in his head.

_Still don't get it. I was, I am better than that. Made and trained and **aimed** better than that._

_So what the hell happened out there? Where did I go, in that instant?_

Hearing Nat clinking the coffee cups together on the set-down to fill them up jumped Clint back to where he was; where they were. Just for the moment. One foot in where he was now, the other walking the confusion even though he knew what should be the important parts. Too raw from it after, and too numb in the memory he had weighing in around his neck like a millstone.

Kitchen, late night; a glance to the digital on the mini wall oven telling him it was past nine already and he'd been sitting there for a good hour and a half spacing out almost in the dark. A couple lights on over the island, but otherwise the television had been shut off a while ago and just looking at his own scummy coffee he knew nobody else was in the room and hadn't been for a while. Bruce and Cap had been back there watching the news and trying not to notice him, or; maybe they'd been waiting for him to approach them first. Which he hadn't, of course. Probably bailed since he hadn't left and didn't know what to say.

Almost a week since that boom and crack had gone off in front of him and ruffled the water, left that back smoking and bleeding and, _dear God_ how had he still been standing after that really? The closest light had been blown too. Later after the cleanup or maybe during it, at that table; he'd overheard someone tell Fury that had been some of his armor blown off his shoulder hitting the light: bounced off between the tension of his shoulder, the bone under it and straight out and up to break the fixture like it'd been shot with a fifty caliber armor piercing round.

They'd been lucky, Hill had said; nobody else had been out there and in range of the blast. He'd cupped himself around her just right. Blown what there was out into the water or chipped it right into the dock itself. Turned what force and shrapnel there was away from everybody and took the brunt. Made himself into literal meat and bone shield, not just for the undeserving woman Clint had let himself forget was right there, _right in range,_ and would've been _right dead,_ if he hadn't. Listened to how in tat bare fraction, **_Loki_** _had been the one_ to lock his legs and coil in around her and make sure, Barton's _very_ deadly extra didn't blow back to get even his shooter, _too._ Or Steve.

_Saved her life. Maybe, all three of their lives._

Those words picked out of the short briefing through that cracked door, _weren't going away_ any time soon. Because he'd been the shooter.

He'd let that bomb go knowing exactly what it was. And he knew why, while the same time he still couldn't understand it: because it wasn't, hadn't even been rage.

He'd just cracked, down to something else.

Which was worse somehow, and riding him hard. As it should be.

Because Clint Barton was made better. _Trained better._ Aimed, better. _Wasn't he?_

Even a week later they didn't seem to know what to do with Clint any more than he did. Investigation done. Debriefing and five solid days of counseling and trying to break it down, and figure him out when he couldn't figure it or that single moment out himself. Sometimes, Barton felt like he was still in shock. Or like it couldn't have happened. Like it was some surreal nightmare he was still living, waiting to wake up from. Like that black in the dark slick on Steve's hands when he'd started applying pressure only to have it pool, or the smell of burnt hair and fabric, scorched metal and blood and the toasty crisp of the edge of the wound he could see half face down and screaming almost soundlessly at him to stop playing and come at him was just the start of it.

That any minute, instead of having the cold cup pulled silently from his fingers; Clint would blink his eyes open bleary and maybe a little shaken to the sound of the intro to some rock or pop song filtering through the walls and around the corner from Lolo's room like it did every morning around eight or nine to let them know: hey, it's another day. Hey, when the new; hot cup landed in his fingers: somebody get the coffee going and hide the peanut brittle if it's out. 'Cause no one wants Loki on that much sugar on top of the caffeine him and Bruce sucked down like the two of them alone were supporting the whole of south Columbia's economy with how many dozens of bags of beans they went through in a solid week.

" It's not gonna drink itself, you know. " was twice as careful as everyone else was when they did talk to him; like he might break all over again if they let that clip in too hard at him: and maybe they weren't' wrong. Looking up at her from the stare he'd been back at giving the fresh cup; he could tell she was wondering about that too. Whether the cracks that had burst open on the docks were holding up under the pressure of being so close to where it had happened. Whether coming back here so early was really going to help him. Clint's eyes hit the stuff she'd slid over along the counter in front of him, and he didn't know it for sure himself when he could almost see painted nails snatching the hersheys for a good five count and smell it before Barton had grabbed or popped that cap himself to squeeze the stuff in over his cup, followed by a little sugar and the spoon to stir it up.

She was around the counter and sitting next to him after realizing he still didn't know what to say. Sighing at him when he paused going for the first sip getting caught on things she couldn't hear or see; the mud in his cup reminding him of the thick prints they'd left in the bank on the rush to get the one fold-up issue stretcher nobody ever really thought they'd use and Bruce had to pry out of the closet. " ..how fucked up is it when the angriest man on earth's calmer than me in that situation? " was more to himself, and yeah beating himself up for it, cutting Nat's next breath short while he finally took a good swallow.

Natasha combed a handful of fingers back through her hair on the other side and blew out what was left of that breath. " Pretty fucked up. " Came before the words " Wasn't your fault. " that made him laugh, a little; and made her purse her frown at him in his peripherals. Because he knew better than anyone: " Yeah it was. " and he couldn't let her argue it when he saw her getting ready to. " Sure as all hell and definitely, is; and don't you go trying to make it better by lyin' to me. "

" Clint, your head -- "

" Was a mess and I knew it when I pushed being up that close to begin with. " couldn't help but be clipped in real quick, because; that was the truth. " Now Fury's gotta hold some of that weight too, _'cause he trusted me;_ **_to_** know _me._ Know, whether I could handle it, and whether I needed to be here. Don't think I don't know _that._ " and " I was made better. I was _trained_ better. " was where it was when it finally came out; angry, but _quiet_ for the fact that he thought and knew; he didn't really have the right compared to the rest to _be_ angry. 

He saw Nat got he wasn't taking the kinder bullshit she was trying to edge in right then, in the re-grip of her mug and the press her lips made while he had the second gulp. Maybe a little too much for the brief surge of emotion before he wiped it clear of the corner of his mouth and snagged a napkin from the condiment tray she'd pulled over to get the stick from his fingers. " None of us were trained for what happened to you. " had him shaking his head." No, we weren't. But we were trained to know when we're edging. Trained to know when we're compromised. I brought you in on all ... this. " the annoyed wave outwards of one hand and she tried to grab hodl of it, but Clint wasn't having it.

Took to rubbing the napkin thin at the corner before he swiped it across his mouth and tossed it for the trash. Didn't miss of course. Even with the little shake he automatically corrected for it. " _..couldn't miss to save my fucking life._ " was pissing him off in just that particular second. " _Never mind_ somebody _else's._ " got him a hand to the back of his head though. Rang his bell a bit and he didn't care, just grit his teeth and turned the cup in his hand, 'cause he deserved worse; just for Pepper. She didn't belong in the middle of his problems, but he'd let that happen; and no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, or Nat did: that was a part of the bad, but it wasn't the worst that had him jumping at the chance to run out here again instead of take the plane home first.

" That's where I draw the line, _for_ you. " sounded just as mad, not that Barton was going to look. He knew she was right, there, at least. " And you don't get to pull it back either. That particular statement? That's bullshit. You screwed up. Big, screw up; but that does not change everything you've done up to that point, or anything you're gonna do now that it's already passed. "

" _Has_ it, passed..? " Cause where was he now? Waiting to wake up still, sitting in the kitchen across from the couch they still hadn't put back together, taken out or been able to get the blood stains entirely out of where they'd had to lay him after Clint had literally shot a bomb into his back. Every one of them avoided so much as looking at it, never mind touching it when they could to get it out of there. " Don't feel like it's passed. " The seeping mess he'd been in when they sat him three seats down from where he was at; dazed and cuffed watching Bruce and Steve and then the first of three other agents on the scene struggling just to stop the bleeding.

His head shot straight for the moment before the sudden swiping crunch and scrape of metal encased knuckles had come at him from his left so fast it had put him back on the side of his face on the floor wondering what the fuck had just hit him. The brief registration when he'd looked up and seen Tony's face high on rage and rancor brought to full bloom on that face and aimed at him; the kick to the ribs he still felt, but not nearly as much as the fact he'd noticed Stark was full on crying streams as he he'd shouted at and almost clawed for getting his hands on him: and Steve had to pull away from helping Bruce and mark that red armor redder with Lolo's blood to force the angry brown eyed man in the metal suit back out of the room and keep him there or try to before he let off a repulsor shot that was still a scorch mark on the ceiling Clint knew was up there in the dark yet, tonight.

" ..feels like it's still goin' on in this room to me. " wasn't a lie, for how much more clearly he could see and hear it now, than he had even then. " Innit anything I can do about it Nat. Not really. You either. I lost it, and I .. don't know if I can catch the why enough to get back up from the fall. Half of me's still wishing, waiting to wake up. "

Quiet, before she breathed in; an the silence stretched in a way that told him it wasn't over yet. This was her swallowing the next sip with difficulty because she was looking for words she had to say, and they weren't going to be a comfort. This was him, pulling up the strings of memory and holding them still because he felt it coming before she said anything. " Say what you gotta, you know it ain't gonna get any easier. " Needing to give her a push when she didn't say on that breath or the next one, and getting whatever it was; was why she was sitting there having coffee with him instead of back at the Tower where most of them were spending their nights and he was currently banned from entry.

" He's stabilized, enough they're gonna move him again tonight. " had him swallowing too, no coffee in his mouth though. " They're sending him home. " was a kick in the balls; because why he'd been there and just how bad it was all wrapped up in a neat package came to mind just as a start. " We can't do as much for him here, and if something else happens; he needs medical support we can't give without phoning Asgard anyway and wasting crucial time. So, he's going back; for the rest of his recovery. "

" ...They putting him back in his box, for it. " was less a question and more Clint remembering every time Stark had adamantly if mostly politely told Thor to fuck off in that direction; and the fact the polite end of it had been all Lolo in request and the influence he had on Stark since .. well: maybe since before Stark had managed to wiggle him out of Asgard's dungeons in the first place. Remembering the first time Clint had seen the scars in his arms, or the brief, immediately hushed about mention of how they'd been closed up in the first place, after the angry drops of why there were there.

" _No._ Thor fought _with_ us on that one. There's stipulations, sending him back; and Thor actually agreed and made _how he left_ very public on their end, after Tony... " another breath that told him Tony had not been quiet about it, not that he thought he would have been anyway at this stage. " ..after he explained it to him and pointed the evidence out for what it was. "

Clint had guessed, if late. How those scars had gotten there. He'd been around enough to put all the slips together. Which, did not help his conscience. That wasn't all of what was flipping his stomach though, or all she had to say. "..they're bringing him here, for the transport; in the next hour or so. " had him sucking in a breath and letting the bottom of his mug settle on the counter still in his hand.

That soon? " Shouldn't they let his body rest some more? " could have croaked for all the things running through his head.

Natasha shook hers, and looked over to him again then. " He's as stable as he's gonna get. Their healers fixed most of it yesterday." came out while he was getting the need to get up and pace tamped down; and then " ..They're saying Lolo should have woken up by now. " just kicked that attempt right in the ass and topped it over and sprawling on the floor of his mind. " They're pretty sure they know what it is, but want to be sure and: make sure there's nothing else wrong with him, since this came up fast on the heels of the wounds he sustained after his mom was killed. "

And he smiled; not the happy kind: but recognizing why else she was sitting next to him. " ..so you're the one they sent ahead to watch me since they know I'm here. " no reply, and none needed. " You're here to put me on my face again if I get too close. " And he didn't blame them for that. Not in the slightest.

Still, it was a bite to his throat to hear " ..Nick wants me to escort you out actually." and hear it followed up by. " He said if you still hadn't been out, I could walk you out there; til he's on his way, but .. yes. That's as close as they want you; and I'm supposed to search you before we do if that's the case. "

He knew she was trying to figure out what he was laughing at when it started, quiet and tight as it was. Cause of course, they'd want him as far from where they'd be beaming him out as possible and unarmed. The trust was broken, and Barton knew he'd earned that; no matter what had happened to trigger the reason. " Yeah. " came with clearing his eyes of the little wet he allowed himself for that; and the realization that .. all his chances for the most important parts of forgiveness he definitely wasn't worthy of getting was being carted out unconscious in the next hour.

Sitting there was suddenly an impossibility. One long gulp standing up, " Let's go then. " and he was starting for the conference room door, the same way he'd gone when he'd seen her that night. Out that same door, with her behind him this time instead of in front and unconscious propped carefully against the glass. Over the grass and headed for the path barely cut through the now trimmed down brush. All the way to the lake, unable to keep from glancing to the dark lines of the dock that cut through the shine of the water between the trees on their right. Hard, quick steps;right up to the point he was looking at the first plank at the toes of his boots.

That was where he stopped. And that was where the sound cut in again past the thunder of his own blood and fear in his ears. Water lapping wood and earth, like nothing had happened. The moon up in it's place a little lower and making the reflection even brighter for it's wider cut five days later. He could still smell the charge, and burnt hair and blown cooked copper. They'd trimmed down the grass, set the leftovers of that killed light to one side of the start of the dock. He remembered a plunk, the sound of something dropping into the water in the bare moment after; the second everything had started to rush after him with the frantic panic; and Nat couldn't keep up when he dashed for the end of the dock. Or get to him when he was peeling off his jacket and just stepping off.

Didn't know why it mattered, but it did. Finding that thing where it probably still was off the end of the dock. Nat was making to jump in when he came up for the first breath of air, told her not to get in the way and dunked himself back in fast and went rummaging around the support again; trying not to think about him being flown or trucked in. Trying not to wonder if they'd completely healed him or he was still sporting a hole in his back. Trying not to wreck his fingers and not caring if he did in the next breath up above the surface just to go back down when he came up empty. Every time he went under, the water sucked him down; dark and murky and getting worse because he was kicking up the lake bed around the thick wood pillars scratching around for a piece of plastic and glass he might never find: a lot like he might never find or get back what trust he'd had and hadn't tried enough in the right way to keep.

Everything was crashing down on him while he did, and he didn't give a fuck just then.

Didn't mean to do this. Didn't want what came from it. What had to. Felt like that moment, that one instant he'd let go of that string was seeping in more than the cold from going on a searching swim in a lake in early December, like he was. Made him want to give up. Made him half breathless and wild and grasping when he came up again and gripped the edge of the dock, shaking his head at Nat's attempts to try and get him to come out of the water or tell her what he was looking for. Had all of him, not just his lungs; aching with the hurt he'd hit himself with for doing it and the regret and the shame that just hadn't stopped and was just getting heavier remembering Pepper's face when Nat had kept him floored just seconds after Steve had disarmed and planted him chin first on the planks.

The tears didn't come til he nudged a rock over and caught the feel of it under the heel of his palm in passing though. Just the edge, jutted up out of the muck through his scrabbling. Clint had to cough up some of the water he automatically sucked into his mouth finding it; latching onto the palm sized rectangle just _so fucking desperate_ and mindless, when he pulled his upper body up one handed to gasp for the breaths he needed: almost as much as he was clutching to that lost thing held dead hard against his chest. He heard the chopper's first beats while Nat fussed trying to get him up the rest of the way, trying to get him to roll over: while Barton was just silently sucking breath and crying it out hearing that noise coming up on the too near horizon knowing what that meant.

She stopped when he turned his head that way; Clint knew the make and knew that was them. So did she. And, more than he deserved even with her orders, she turned and settled into a sitting position at his shoulder when he turned over to watch the loud machine slow down and whup it's way overhead to the only patch of grass currently big enough and close enough to the Compound to land on, beating the trees this way and that where they were. Nat rubbed at his steaming cold arm when they piled out in a filed thin line he could see even at this distance, not that Barton could feel anything just those moments clutching what he'd come up with against his stomach before Nat noticed it there and stilled.

He wasn't looking at her and didn't have to at this angle to see her fold in her lips and turn her attention back where his was. Watching that gurney being unloaded. Watching the rest of the guys pile out, every one of them; one after the other. Steve and Tony, Bruce. Thor too, which was telling enough for the fact he didn't need the bird to get from point A to point B and probably could have been faster about it on his own with a few twirls of his hammer.

Clint saw a brief flash of that black hair; a single slip of a sliver of black probably tied to one side against the almost white pale blue of paper sheets he was strapped to under the thick quilt and thin grey wool blanket they'd put Loki under to combat what of the chill he might get between there and where ever he was going as the rotors picked up again and the chopper eased into a steady neutral and it's pilot received orders from Rogers at a lean in before Steve left the headset behind and jumped to a half-jog to catch up again. Away he went, Loki: and there was just two thoughts that made it clear of the mess Barton was for being left behind him. _Again._

The first came out of his mouth as Nat was bringing her own phone to her ear, " _Go on._ " catching her attention before he finally looked to her "..go with him. " and got the start of a shake to her head that had him reaching for her arm, and repeating it."Go with them. "and making sure she got it in the only words he could pull up to express everything behind it. " Nat; _go with him;_ 'cause I can't. Go _for_ me. "

All it took was two or three seconds of looking at him, gap-mouthed before she fully got it. The apology he couldn't put in words and the guilt and the wish he really could go; or trust himself enough to. The promise he'd do what he needed and keep that thing tucked face down against his chest and maybe get it fixed if he needed or could before giving it back to Pepper. Too spent and too hungry and needing to let the cold sink in a little further even if it meant he got a cold or something from it, just to let them go. " Okay. " and a kiss to his temple he was glad for, before she was up and on her way: and he heard " I'm coming with, no arguments. " before her pace picked up a little and Clint was staring at the high, wispy cloud cover above, catching sight of a bare few stars and the outline of the moon where it had started to get lost in those clouds. " ..he's on the dock, send someone out in a few minutes if he doesn't come in, please? "

Clint realized, it wasn't just what he had in his hands; he'd lost something out here himself, when he'd let go of the string. He'd cut something free and let it fall. Something that .. had set something off inside, so hurtful: that was where the numb was from. That was where he couldn't let thinking about it go, over and over again.

" He ...went, diving. Found Pepper's lost phone in the water at the end of the dock. " was the last thing he heard Natasha say legibly from where he was laying face up on the dock, when that first flash of light signalling their escort's arrival through the Bifrost boomed through the sky and crashed somewhere on the green on the other side well and away from the chopper. He heard her running from there, making good on his request: and just listened between the waves and the hush and whine of the chopper winding down.

Happy Hogan of all people was just leaning over him what felt like an age later; looking more worried and uncertain than he thought he had a right to be all things considered. Looking off that way when the second boom went off and chucked the feeling of loss back off into the deep end of the lake so fast and hard, Barton thought for sure he pulled something with the jerk it pulled along his spine.

Didn't know what he looked like, but shit and pitiful must have been on the list for Hogan to offer him his hand after looking back down at him, shivering and drenched and all the mess Clint was on display with _that_ expression. " Come on, man. Let's.. get you dry and warmed up for when they get back. "

" They're not coming back tonight. " didn't need a reply, and wasn't questioned even though he knew by the chopper staying parked that was the expectation. Clint took the hand and ended up pausing long looking over the water, half tempted to chuck the phone at Happy and dive right back in. Even if he knew he wouldn't find it down there. Hogan didn't say a word, just half-slapped him on the shoulder to get him to turn towards the idea of getting on the path and inside, away from what he was leaving out there, way under the surface and the muck. And maybe getting warm and dry if he could manage the first one at all right then.

There was no finding lost trust. There was no digging that out of the lake.

There was no recovering from that one last look he'd seen when the string had been let loose, before Lo had turned his back on him and taken the blast of rage and pain and incomprehensible jealousy.

It was just gone.

He'd blown a gaping, awful and bloody hole in it himself.

All he had was the tiny sliver of a hope there was ground strong enough to rebuild on, from at least one side if not the other.

_And until then?_

Clint Barton was stuck.

Needed to try prying on his own again, cause of how bad he'd fucked up.

He had no choice but to stare the loss in the face, try real hard to suck it up and walk it off and just find a way to deal; and move forward.


End file.
